


these hands of mine

by chryysaskk



Series: songs for goodnight [5]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Geralt Fluff Week (The Witcher), Hands, Idiots in Love, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Sharing a bathtub, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Touching, excessive use of comparisons and oxymorons, it's about the h a n d s, no beta we die because of softness, of course they did, or have a bath for a more realistic experience, this is so soft just hide under a blanket and read it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:54:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25750945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chryysaskk/pseuds/chryysaskk
Summary: "Have I told you I love your hands?""Yes, you have.""Have I told you why I love them?""Yes. Many times."Jaskier then hesitates, just for a second before slightly raising his head from Geralt's shoulder and gazing at him. A glint wild with tenderness sparkles in his eyes. "Mind if I tell you again?"A sigh. Then a smile. "No. Not at all."
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: songs for goodnight [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1859638
Comments: 16
Kudos: 105
Collections: Geralt Fluff Week 2020





	these hands of mine

**Author's Note:**

> written for [Geralt Fluff Week](https://www.google.com/url?sa=t&source=web&rct=j&url=https://geraltfluffweek.tumblr.com/post/622193322992205824/announcing-geralt-fluff-week-this-will-be-a/amp&ved=2ahUKEwjGyevglYfrAhXBQxUIHaVdDlQQFjAAegQIBBAC&usg=AOvVaw1aFLIDki2t29xZuWfVhfuM&cf=1) Day 6 & 7 - Fighting/Contracts/Monsters & Established Relationship.  
> to be clear with the interpretation of the prompt geralt's hands have fought monsters and the likes but they are!! so much more!!!! if that makes any sense.  
> anyway enjoy 2k words of unstoppable fluff and me being hit by a wave of inspiration that resulted in jaskier's words.
> 
> kudos or comments are appreciated with my whole being if you reach the end <3

The water was warm so that it made Geralt hum in pleasure as he stepped in the bathtub and sank to the bottom. A deep sigh escaped his lips and he rested his head back, grateful that the bathtub was spacious enough to let him spread his legs. He rubbed his face with his wet hands and closed his eyes, feeling the warmth embracing his body and almost dissolving the exhaustion of the day.

"Now, now, big guy, don't you think about drifting off in there." Jaskier took off his doublet and threw it on a chair before he approached the bathtub, folding up his sleeves. "It's been a long day but I can't guarantee you I will manage to carry you to bed before collapsing myself."

Geralt huffed in dismissal of any burdens between him and utter peacefulness, yet he cracked open his eyes and glanced sideways at Jaskier. It was a long day, yes. First thing in the morning, a bunch of bandits had thought of challenging their luck, only to find themselves unconscious on the ground. Still, they had the privilege of giving a punch or two. Jaskier's cheek was swollen and marked by a scratch that almost reached his temple. 

Then it had been the contract. Geralt was convinced after all these years that aldermen at least were decent when it came to coin yet he had to beat the payment out of that one with a stick. Almost literally. For more than half an hour.

And finally, the basilisk. Thankfully the job had ended sooner than he had expected, the monster was a young one, yet only he knew the amount of dirt he breathed and swallowed to escape its claws. It didn't fail though to leave a long mark across his shoulder blade. One more exhibit on the wall.

Jaskier had been there, of course. Geralt could thank him for helping reach an agreement with the alderman, but that came after the witcher had stopped mid-air a punch directed at the other man. About the basilisk, he could elaborate on the way he'd gotten the mark on his back, he really could. He could shout at Jaskier once more for being so stupid and selfless and lacking any sense of self-preservation, for getting in front of him as if he was the one who needed protection. But after all those years, he had started to doubt that he would achieve a result. 

So he limited himself to a grunt as he remembered the newly acquired bruise on the bard's side when he'd gotten thrown on the ground and averted his eyes, idly staring at the ceiling. Yet when he heard Jaskier preparing the bottles and moving to take a seat on the stool behind him for the customary ritual of washing his hair, Geralt turned his head and gently tugged at the bard's wrist. Jaskier stopped moving and lowered his look with a frown.

"You don't want to...?"

Geralt almost laughed at the doubt in Jaskier's voice but a deeper part of him felt the same need of constant reassurance he discerned now in his blue gaze. He shook his head calmly to relax the bard and then peered at him from tip to toes. Truth be told, he was in need of a bath as much as Geralt was. His face and hands were stained with black dirty spots, as well as his shirt that was also ripped on the right shoulder. Geralt squinted for a moment. Of course, he could let him clean himself after he was done but the thing is. He didn't want the bed to creak when Jaskier laid down while he was asleep.

Yes, that definitely was a valid reason.

Only that he didn't have to deceive anyone anymore.

Jaskier huffed as the witcher pulled him closer without talking and dragged his feet on the floor. "Really, my dear, I'd love to solve any of your issues tonight but I'm telling you I'll be asleep mid-conversation. Can we not do this tomorrow?"

Geralt smiled and shook his head again. Then gestured at the bathtub. "Get in the water."

"Oh." Jaskier blushed, and there was absolutely no reason to, it's not like it would be the first time, still, Geralt was delighted to see his cheeks burning red. He pretended to think about it for a moment before shrugging. "Alright."

Geralt was right, he concluded, it would be a shame to take the double amount of time after all and he really wanted to get done with cleaning himself before his eyelids dropped from exhaustion. He heaved a long sigh of content as he seated himself in the bathtub in front of Geralt and leaned back on the witcher's chest when he felt strong hands gently pulling his arms. He rested his head on Geralt's shoulder and giggled.

"You know how to make me happy, don't you?" He closed his eyes as Geralt's hands trailed down his chest.

Geralt huffed a laugh. "I like to think I do, yes." He turned his head slightly and pressed his lips against Jaskier's jaw, feeling the shivers running up and down the bard's spine.

Jaskier swallowed, his cheeks still flushed, and leaned in to catch Geralt's lips in a lazy kiss, then opened his eyes and met the witcher's gaze. But he didn't speak. He liked silence sometimes. That particular silence. Where words were insignificant compared to the sonnets their fingertips carved on each other's skin. Even he, a poet, recognized words did not fit on some occasions. That was a major confession for a poet to admit.

Yet as Geralt's hands danced across his body like nymphs feasting on sacred land and his fingertips fondled his forearms like an allured sculptor exploring the marble of his latest work for any flaws, only to find none, Jaskier couldn't help but entwine the witcher's fingers in his and stroke his open palm with the other hand.

He was a poet by nature, after all.

"Have I told you I love your hands?" He asks and glances at Geralt with the corner of his eye, catching the smile quirking on his lips.

Geralt realizes he's been caught and lets out a fond sigh, shaking his head. "Yes, you have."

Jaskier nods in satisfaction as if Geralt's agreement was needed to verify the work of nearly twenty years. Then raises an eyebrow. "Have I told you why I love them?"

Geralt squints as if in thought. Of course he has. He feels Jaskier's fingers tapping softly on the inside of his wrist, as if following the slow rhythm of his heartbeat. As if deciding the rhythm of another song. He tilts his head. "Yes. Many times."

Jaskier then hesitates, just for a second before slightly raising his head from Geralt's shoulder and gazing at him. A glint wild with tenderness sparkles in his eyes. "Mind if I tell you again?"

A sigh. Then a smile. "No. Not at all."

Jaskier was a poet by nature. So he decided the poetry he wrote on Geralt's arms was worth reciting.

"I love your hands, I adore them. I love them when I watch them deftly polish the blade of the sword, the same sword they heft bravely when facing a monster. I love them when I see them skin a wild animal for dinner, such a grotesque act in order to serve the simple need of caring. I love them when I watch them clench and unclench at your sides in attempts to hold back a punch or a fist banging the table." 

Jaskier paused, his fingers escaping Geralt's and turned to look at his face. A light shade was darkening the gold of his eyes. But he knew. He knew there was more. The bard smiled and continued.

"I love that those hands were trained to kill monsters, to count coins and dominate in fights, yet they do harm only as a way of protection. I love that those hands were not trained to be gentle, yet with such softness tend to a wound. I love that those hands were not trained to be tender, yet here I am, melting under your touch as if featherlight raindrops are flowing down my skin." He felt Geralt's free hand raising to rest above his heart, and the last hints of tension escaped Jaskier's shoulders as he was trapped in the witcher's arms. "I love that those hands were not trained to be kissed, yet they bear the colour of the lily, as if actual blossoms will bloom from the rough spots, should lips trail across their land." 

Jaskier swallowed, stopped talking for some moments and averted his gaze. But Geralt didn't intervene. He knew there was more. He knew every time. Jaskier then raised their joined hands and kissed each one of Geralt's knuckles with such care and affection, as if the red marks obtained in the morning would heal under his lips. 

"I love, I love that your hands have touched anything that comes to imagination and have thrown it away, yet they manage to cradle my heart like they would cradle a terrified little bird craving the warmth of his lost nest. I love that they fought for what they yearned for, have made a contract with time, have killed the monsters that had gotten in the way and are now enjoying their reward. I love them, and I love you for letting all your love run from them like a waterfall soaking me on a warm day." Jaskier feels his eyelids getting heavy now and leans again on the witcher's shoulder, feeling Geralt raising his arms to embrace me and hold him tight. He smiles and brings Geralt's hand on his face, leaning into his touch. "They say our life is written on our hands, Geralt. Will you let me carve my own marks on their walls?"

Geralt swallows and nuzzles his nose in the bard's wet hair. "Only if you let me carve mine in yours," he mumbles and Jaskier chuckles, softly, as if already asleep.

"But you've already done that, you oaf," he whispers and turns to kiss Geralt's palm capping his cheek. 

Geralt smiles and nods. He has already done that. Has been doing in for so many years. Carving words not always kind, not always deserved, words he regrets saying every single day. But now those words are fading under the carvings of his whispers and kisses that fondle Jaskier's hands like the feather of his writing pen. He looks down at their hands, realizes for the hundredth time that his is just a bit bigger, just a bit rougher, just like his life is and has been. Still, it's hidden between two other hands inside which his whole life feels soothed and strongly bound so that if he falls, he won't be alone.

As he carries a sleeping Jaskier to bed, he knows an exceptional and possibly exaggerated remark would be done for his arms if the bard was awake. He holds back a laugh. It would not be the first time, after all.

He silently lays beside Jaskier, careful so as not the make the bed creak, and runs his hand through soft hair, smelling of lavender and honey. And he knows that if feeling Jaskier's skin and playing with his hair is what his hands will be doing for the rest of his days, then maybe, maybe he will grow to love them too.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!
> 
> find me on tumblr as [wanderlust-t](https://wanderlust-t.tumblr.com/)


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